


He Ain’t Dyin’ Today

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comic Relief, Gen, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-02 19:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16311671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: Hardison finds out how Eliot really feels about himRated Mature for languageChapter Two lightens things up a bit - my thanks for the idea goes to HonestBee and because my pal CG asked for more...





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Seconds were ticking by; seconds they didn’t really have.  If Hardison failed to cancel the alarms, two members of the team weren’t making it out of the storage facility before cops descended on them.    

Parker had found the prize - a chest of stolen diamonds - and made it out of the building just before lockdown.  Eliot and Hardison were trapped inside.  As Eliot swept the place, Hardison went to the control room to try to bypass the alarms.  Eliot reported an all clear through the coms; now all that stood in the way of an escape was an electrical roadblock.  Nate and Sophie were across town, speeding toward them in Lucille V.

Hardison, intent on his job with pliers and screwdriver, heard Eliot’s heavy tread coming down the hall.

‘Hurry it up, Hardison!’

‘Comin,’ man!  Whoever re-wired this mess is gonna get a _strong_ letter from me.  We’re ok, I think. I killed the alarms; I just gotta get the front door unnnn---’

Squinting in the near-dark, Eliot thought he saw a spark; he made out Hardison’s strained face and one hand holding up his pliers.  The hand trembled.

 **_‘Hardison!’_   **Eliot screamed as he launched himself directly at the Hacker, using his body to knock Hardison free of the electrical charge.  He smelled scorched flesh, burned insulation and the peculiar whiff of ozone as both men fell heavily to the ground.  The maneuver worked; Hardison was free of the grip of the electricity.

Eliot ripped open the zippered jacket and popped the buttons on Hardison’s shirt.  Pressing an ear to his chest, he detected neither heartbeat nor any indication of breathing.

 _‘Dammit, Hardison!’_  Just time for that one sharp expletive and no more.  Eliot tilted the man’s head back, pried his mouth open and placed his lips over Hardison’s.  Swiftly, he forced two breaths in. Then he straightened and assumed the position for CPR.  Counting gruffly, he pumped the man’s chest thirty times. Two breaths. Thirty compressions.  Two breaths. Thirty compressions. No time to think, just count. Breathe for Hardison, pump his heart; count.  

Minutes went by.  Eliot’s earbud crackled.  It was Nate, talking to the team.  No need to answer; he knew Nate had already grasped the situation and was on his way.  All he had to do was count; keep Hardison's lungs going, make his stopped heart work and pump his blood through his body.  _Damn, this was more tiring than any fight he’d ever been in -_

Nate and Sophie could hear Eliot’s struggle over the coms, as could Parker.  

‘Parker, where are you?’ Nate demanded to know.

‘I’m clear; I'm right outside the front door with the box!  I can't get back in and it's starting to snow!’

'Just stay where you are.  Sophie and I are coming.  We'll get the boys.’

The snow was coming harder.  Parker took shelter in a nearby alcove.  She checked her watch.  Five minutes -- fifteen -- twenty.  Inside, Eliot’s T-shirt and sweater beneath his jacket were soaked in sweat.  He kept working with a steady rhythm, using his body for Hardison’s life support.  Forgetting the coms were open, he began talking to the Hacker while he compressed his chest, willing him to live.  Thirty.

‘Breathe, you son of a bitch.  Dammit, Hardison, you’ve pulled some shit in your time but this takes the fucking cake...’

_BREATHE ... BREATHE._

Thirty.

‘...you’re not pulling this shit now,' he panted.  'You’re gonna wake the fuck up, and you’re gonna stand up and walk the hell out of here.  I ain’t carryin’ ya. You hear me?’

_BREATHE … BREATHE._

Thirty.

‘...when you gonna stop bein’ such a slacker?  Y’always sayin’ _we’re gonna have a strong talk_ , well, you ain’t _seen_ strong until you’ve sat with _me_ , Bubba!'  He paused to catch his breath.  'Thinkin’ o’nothin’ but y’self half the time.  Don’t you know Parker’s gonna be tore up if you kick off, you fuckin' bastard?’

_BREATHE …  BREATHE._

Thirty.

‘...ever think o’that?  No! All you think about are your fucking little dorks, or orks, or some such shit.  Re-adjust your focus, man! You’re not really so useless; this team _needs_ your ass…’      

_BREATHE ... BREATHE._

Thirty.

Eliot’s breathless, strained voice broke.  ‘Come _on_ , Hardison!  Come on, dammit!   _I ain’t gonna let you die, man!!!’_

_BREATHE ... BREATHE ..._

Hardison turned his head, breaking the grip Eliot’s lips held over his mouth.  One hand flailed. Eliot sat back, watching intently; his fingers pressing against Hardison's neck.  The pulse was strong.  Suddenly Hardison’s lungs forced the last of Eliot’s breath out; after a cough or two, he was breathing again.  Eliot lifted him up and cradled him in his lap, hugging him close.

‘I told you once not to do that again, you son of a bitch.  Remember? You never listen to a word I say.’

‘See ... I knew ... deep down ... you really loved me, Eliot,’ Hardison whispered, grinning weakly.

'Go to hell.'

The device in Eliot's ear crackled.

‘Parker, we're here.  I'm coming in,’ Nate said through the coms.  'You might want to stand clear of the doors.'  Something like an explosion echoed through the coms.  Then Nate was there, helping Hardison up.  'Sorry it took so long, Eliot.'  He laid a hand on his Hitter's shoulder and felt the muscles quiver with fatigue.

Eliot and Nate hauled Hardison down the hall to the front of the building.  The lobby was a mess; strewn with glass, pieces of metal, broken drywall.  It was snowing inside.  They made their way carefully past the debris out the gaping hole which had been the front door.  Lucille was parked on the stone steps, front grill and fender dented and a headlight gone.  Sophie was at the wheel.  Parker had the rear door open.  Together, Nate and Eliot laid Hardison on the carpeted floor; Eliot climbed in and held Hardison while Parker pulled a blanket over him.  Hardison was in pain, but alert.  He reached for Parker's hand and held it.

Nate glanced back at them from the passenger seat.  ‘Let's get him to the hospital quick, Sophie.  You think he’ll make it, Eliot?’

Eliot looked up.  His eyes were suspiciously moist.  ‘He’ll make it.  My friend ain’t dyin’ today.’

 

**~~~~~**

 

 


	2. What About Lucille?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What About Lucille?! lightens things up a bit - my thanks for the idea goes to HonestBee and because my pal CG asked for more... I had fun writing this. Hope you like it.

 

Hardison remembered little from that night, despite being more or less alert during the wild drive to the hospital.  The tires squealed as Sophie cut the wheel into the emergency bay and slammed on the brakes at the first hospital they saw.  Parker and Eliot, bracing Hardison in the back end of the van, yelled at her.

‘Look, I can be fahst or I can be gentle but I cahn’t be _both_!’ Sophie protested.  She leaned on the horn while Eliot pulled Hardison out of the back and slung him over his shoulder.  He ran toward the doors as hospital personnel met him with a gurney. Sophie parked Lucille and joined all the rest of them inside; Eliot supplied the desk with one of Hardison’s better-insured aliases; an ‘Alec Thomas’ with full coverage.  Now all they could do was wait. In what had to be a rare instance, they were the only ones in the waiting room.

A couple of miles of pacing, mainly performed by Nate, and several gallons of coffee consumed by all of them later, a doctor emerged from the double doors.  ‘The Thomases?’ The doctor looked questioning at the four people in the waiting area; he saw no one that looked like they might belong to his patient.

Nate rose from his seat.  In answer to the quizzical look on the doctor’s face, he shrugged and said ‘Alec's part of our family. So… Doctor… how is he? Is he gonna make it?’

‘Well, I’ll be honest with you, he’s in serious condition but stable.  Your friend… brother… whatever... a shock like he suffered, greater than five hundred volts, has the potential to result in serious tissue damage.  One hand is rather seriously burned and will require a skin graft. The other burn that completed the circuit exited his heel - that one’s not so bad. Exactly how did this happen?’

Eliot spoke up.  ‘We were remodeling his house,’ he shrugged.  ‘Should’ve hired an electrician, I guess…’

‘I guess,’ the doctor said dryly.  ‘I’d suggest you be more careful from now on.  So… the electrocardiogram shows no heart damage; there are no fractures and his muscle enzymes are ok.  Someone must have been Johnny-on-the-Spot with CPR. He’s very lucky; the rather severe burn to the hand is the worst.’

'Eliot was on the spot,' Sophie whispered to Nate.

‘Did he lose his fingers, Doc?’  This from Eliot, thinking back on the times he'd berated Hardison, threatening those very digits with annihilation.  ‘Is he… I mean, is he gonna lose his fingers?’

‘No, no, the burn extended from the outside edge, over the back of his right hand and wrist.  His fingers are intact.’

The Hitter breathed a sigh of relief.

Parker had thus far remained seated, saying nothing.  Now she spoke up, not looking at anyone in particular, just staring at the floor.  ‘When can we _see_ him.’  It was more a statement than a question.

‘Look, I can see you’re all worried about him so let me get these wounds bandaged and I'll let two, just two of you, see him for just a couple of minutes.  I still need to run some more tests.  He'll have to have that hand debrided and grafted.  We'll get him admitted; he's going to be here for a while.’

‘Thanks, Doc,’ said Nate.  ‘Parker, Eliot, you go. We’ll wait for you.’

 

  **\+ + +**

 

**_A week later_ **

Eliot’s orange Dodge Challenger pulled up in front of the hospital just in time; Hardison aka _Alec Thomas_ had just emerged, limping slightly.  He gingerly sat down in the front seat. His right hand was heavily bandaged and cradled in a sling. The minute he was in the car he wormed out of the sling and leaned his elbow on the car door, basking in the sunlight and fresh air.

It was time to go home.

After about five traffic lights, Hardison cast a sidelong glance at Eliot.  He was being too quiet. Not that he was ever talkative; just that now he was quieter than usual.

‘Man, am I _glad_ to be out of there.’

No response.

‘I am _seriously_ cravin’ me some pizza about now.’

Silence.

‘We cain’t stop for pizza?’  It seemed to Hardison a cricket chirped in the stillness.  ‘You upset about somethin’?’

‘I’m watchin’ the road, Hardison!  Didn’t you see the construction back there?’

Hardison’s eyes closed down with cunning.

‘You was _worried_ about me, _wasn’t’cha_?  Uh huh.  Yeah, I ‘member you ‘n Parker comin’ in t’see me.  She all cool an’ jokin’ around, even if I looked like I’s out of it… and there you was, bitin’ y’lip and y’throat all workin’ an’-’

The best defense was a good offense; Eliot well knew this strategic principle of war.  He scowled at Hardison. ‘You best get that hand in out of the sun if you know what’s good for you.  Didn’t you hear what the doctor said?! And why are you sittin’ like you’re hatchin’ eggs?!’

‘Sore back there.’

‘Sore back where?!’

‘Didn’ you know?  That’s where they took the skin graft from!’

Eliot drove on for a few blocks in silence.  Then his teeth flashed in a grin that slowly cracked his face open.  ‘They, um… they took the skin for your hand from your ass?’

‘It ain’t funny, man, it _hurts_!’

‘Hardison’s ass is on his hand…’  Eliot snorted. Then he started singing.  ‘ _Two good ol’ boys; one hand’s an ass... the other guy’s foot is on the gas…_ ’

‘ ** _Hey!_ **  Don’t be messin’ up Lucille’s song!  Gonna have a _strong_ talk!  Hey, wait... Lucille... I didn’t mess her up inside, did I?  Did ya’ll get her detailed? I know I musta bled all over the carpet…’

‘Uh,’ said Eliot, taken by surprise, ‘Naw, man, we ain’t had time to get ‘er detailed but she’s fine on the inside…’  He cast a sidelong glance at Hardison, whose eyes widened with horror as a memory stirred.

‘Fine on the _inside_?’

Eliot, concentrating on driving, ignored the question.

‘Eliot.  I seem to remember - I silenced the alarms, didn’t I?  Then what was I trying… ‘ Hardison’s brow furrowed. ‘I was trying to get the _doors open_!’

Eliot rubbed the side of his nose.  ‘Uh, yeah. That’s what electrocuted you.’

‘But when you and Nate hauled my ass out of the building, there _wasn’t_ no doors.  We was crunchin’ across a floor of broken glass.’

‘Uh, yeah.’

Hardison’s face froze in horror as he realized what the team had done.  ‘You _didn’t_. Tell me you didn’t crash my Lucille _into the building_.’

‘Naw.  I didn’t.’  

Hardison gingerly sat back, somewhat relieved. 

‘Sophie was driving.’

 **_‘Sophie?!’_ **  Hardison’s voice rose to such a pitch Eliot winced and jammed a finger in his ear.

‘Stop it!  Would you rather we’d left you there?  Huh? Nothing wrong with Lucille that a little body work can’t fix.  A new grill... the right fender… need to replace one light…’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Stop complaining!  Lucille got you to the hospital.  Correction: _Sophie_ got you to the hospital.  Me, I just saved your _life_.  Hell, how about next time we just take a _cab_!!!’

The boys continued to argue all the way back to the Brew Pub........

‘Be just my luck _I’d_ get stuck with the fare.’

‘Naw, that’s _my_ luck, Hardison.’

‘I don’t see _yo’_ shiny orange wheels all dented up.’

‘That’s because it’s _my_ _car_ ; I don’t use it for work unless I have to.  Lucille's for the jobs; she’s a company car.’

‘I can’t believe you said that.  I can _not_ believe you just said that…  Does Nate know about Lucille?’

‘He prob'ly told Sophie to do it…’

 

 

 

The End


End file.
